So Beautiful It Makes You Want To Cry
by BookRookie12
Summary: It's Christmas 1807, but William doesn't feel much like celebrating. What does he find in the snow? [outdated Equals, Lovers, Soulmates four-shot]
1. Innocence

**Hi! I was listening to Avril Lavigne's 'Innocence' (don't judge, I'm a sucker for oldish songs) and I thought of this. Wouldn't leave me alone! It also helps me to understand the bigger fic. Right now this is my only chapter, but I think I might post more. Tell me if I should!**

 **Also, if you don't know where this is supposed to take place, it's in the MTMDF (More Than My Dearest Friend) universe, where Darcy and Elizabeth meet as kids and grow up best friends, but they fight and drift apart. William writes about this event in his diary, and explains how he was in a bit of a depression at the time.**

 **While you read, I suggest playing the song 'Innocence'. It'll help with the tone.**

* * *

"Where are you going, William?"

The soft voice of his twelve-year-old sister halted him. William turned back around. "Outside, Georgie. To Mother's rose garden." The hot room was stifling him. He needed to go, go to that one place he felt connected to his deceased mother. His navy blue scarf, waistcoat, and gloves were making him sweat through his clothes, and his black winter coat did not help matters. "Georgie, please," he pleaded desperately. "I need to go."

"But... it is Christmas." The blonde girl was curled up into a ball before the fire, looking shy and shut up.

"I know... I need to feel closer to Mother this Christmas, now that Father is gone as well..." Without another word, William strode out of the manor house to the frozen rose garden.

A full-grown, if young, man of three-and-twenty, his dark hair was a contrast to his sister's golden blonde, although his cerulean blue eyes were only a slight shade off his sister's bonny blue. The gold that ringed his irises was now gone, like the sunlight that had once lit his darkness.

The cool winter wind sliced at his cheeks as he made his way to the garden. He pulled his hat low over his eyes, and let himself become as cold and dark outside as inside. _Ironic, is it not_ , he thought, _that my wardrobe is that of mourning? And I have had it since I was eighteen. Have I always been this dark?_

"Yes, I have," he said out loud, opening the gate to his one sanctuary where he was not tortured by the world or his problems. It was a place as though captured from a dream, from his peaceful slumber: a place where the world did not weigh down on his young, stooped shoulders.

The silence calmed him as the gate, squeaking loudly, shut behind him and his footsteps crunched in the snow. What would once have been chilling to him was comforting.

He looked around at the snow-covered, bare bushes, and lay down in the snow, welcoming the numbing cold that lanced into his feverish neck and ears. He closed his eyes, letting his mind go blank, and simply enjoying the solid blue of the winter sky, the blending of the clouds to the moon, and the white, pure glow of the lunar rays.

William felt peaceful - awake - for the first time in a year. Always, his solace had been sleep, dreams, but this in itself was a dream to him, a dream that was a bliss cut off from his world.

When he was dreaming, he was innocent, a boy unaware of all the sadness and corruption death could cause. When he was dreaming, he was blissfully in a world of his own imagination, away from all the cares of his outer world. His imagination was a dark place, true, but it was a peaceful place, where he mattered, where he was not ignored, where he was not a sign of shame or resentment. Here, as he was with Elizabeth, he was himself. _Changed by my circumstances, changed by my experiences, but still, essentially, me, William._

He was here, in the night, with the snow and the wind, the trees and the clouds, the moon and the stars, and he was content. Painless, ignorant bliss. His mind was fogging, where he could not see the painful memories that tortured him. His surroundings were beautiful, and for this treasured moment, so was he.

 _I wish I could stay here forever. Here, I do not have to live in eternal torment, eternal resentment of myself. Here, I like who I am. I am myself, fully, wonderfully myself. This freedom is the best feeling I have had in a long time._

 _This moment is perfect._ William sighed and let himself smile. Smile, really smile, and for a fleeting moment he imagined Elizabeth by his side, and the moment, his innocent moment, was brilliant, perfect. A muted version of happiness drifted into his soul - a contentment born of ignorance. This was not his kind of happiness, but it was all he could have.

 _I will hold onto this for as long as I can,_ William thought. _I belong here, and I am as happy as I can be. As long as I can, I will stay here, where the ghosts of my past and present cannot tread and all I see is the bright potential of an imagined future._

Fleeting as a summer breeze, his peace faded, and William found himself in pain once more, a subtle, only slightly painful throb in his chest that was slowly poisoning him. The gaping hole in his soul opened, and began to eat away the rest of him in a slow, agonizing meal.

His Mother and his Father, two of the dearest people he knew, were gone where he could not reach them. He could never cry on his mother's shoulder anymore, never look to his father for comfort. William felt the enormity of his loss crashing down on him, and he began to sob, quietly of course.

There was no use worrying Georgiana about this. He was nothing, and never would be. His parents, the only people who really thought he was worth something, were separated from him by the tantalizing veil called Death. "Oh, Elizabeth!" he whispered miserably into the snow. "I wish you were here - so much..." His emotions welling up again, he admitted what he would not say for the world: "I love you, Elizabeth. You are the dearest of all to me. God, do I wish you were here!"

His need for her - her joy, her smile, her humour - felt like a burning hole in his heart and his throat, and he choked on his own tears as the anguish he could not express poured out onto the snow in front of him. It felt like his raw agony was oozing out of his body, but it gave him no comfort to be bleeding. Curled up in a ball, hands clutching at the throb in his chest, the tears that dripped off his agonized face might as well have been blood.

His emotions swirled down the same drain they had come from, and William uncurled, the tear tracks on his cheeks freezing in the cold. He was exhausted after his crying fit, and the silence felt so inviting. Expressing his emotions took so much of his energy nowadays..

 _I feel so drowsy... sleep is so welcome right now. I want to dream, to escape from this reality that is chipping me away. I will sleep, for a little while. For just a little while..._

And, not feeling the cold frost against his body, Fitzwilliam Darcy drifted off into a sleep he did not know he might never awaken from.


	2. A State Worse Than Death

**I'm so sorry if this is really depressing. Don't worry, it has to get worse before it gets better! And this will end at least not sadly, I promise. After this, it connects back to the original story, MTMDF, which is also HEA for William and Lizzy.**

 **In reply to a guest review, the reason Elizabeth is mentioned here is because this fic is in the universe of my bigger story. To give you a summary, Elizabeth and William meet when they are six and thirteen, respectively. They become best friends, but William's parents die and a distance grows between them, which isn't helped by the fact that William has fallen in love with his best friend. To say more would give you spoilers, so either go read it, or continue reading this one!**

* * *

"William?" The little blonde figure wandered through the snow to find her brother. "William? Are you still here?"

It had been more than two hours since William had gone out into the snow to their mother's rose garden, and Georgiana Darcy was worried. She had bundled up warmly (her brother would probably scold her if she did not) in a scarf, gloves, cloth cap, and an extra-warm pelisse, and set out to find him.

Cautiously she creaked open the gates to the garden, calling, "William?"

His still form lay in the snow, half-buried already by the falling flakes that had never seemed so menacing as that moment. Frantic, Georgiana cried, "William! William! Wake up! Please, wake up! Please be alive, be alive!" She was almost sobbing as she dug her brother out of the snow. She gasped as her gloved fingers made contact with his neck. It was burning hot.

He shifted. "Do not make me leave," he murmured. "I do not want to leave." His face was beaded with sweat despite the extreme cold, and already his scarf was soaked. Georgiana flew her brother's forehead and knew what was the matter: he had fallen ill in the snow.

"I will be back, dearest brother," she said, kissing his flushed cheek. "I will be back soon! With that, she dashed away to find Mrs. Reynolds.

* * *

A week passed, and soon a tall, lean, but weak figure, wrapped in a navy blue dressing gown, sat at his desk, writing down his torturous emotions before a moon that shone on his dark hair and pale, sallow face. In his desperate longing, his journal entries were no longer addressed to the diary itself, but to the one held dearest to his heart.

* * *

1 January 1808, New Year's.

Dear Elizabeth,

Is it really New Year's already? I have no memory of the past week. All I remember is wandering out to the rose garden and falling asleep. Am I going mad? Georgiana says I was delirious with fever nearly two days, and in an uncertain recovery for five days. I feel strangely empty. Without you here, Pemberley is dark and opressive. The only place I can find peace is in the rose gardens my mother planted, and sometimes not even then.

Why do I live in constant fear? Fear for what, exactly? Uncle Alexander has said that I must recover soon, and I do not wish to disappoint him. I... It simply feels so strange being the master here, especially since I am so weak. I can barely hold this pen steady, do you see? Richard thinks it is because I have been ill. No, it is because this poison called bitterness and grief has already made me the worst it can get. Elizabeth, I am not ill. I am not dead. I exist, which is a state worse than death. I fervently hope that you should never come to such a state.

I live in fear and sadness, although I know not what I am afraid of, or what makes me sad. I simply am. I exist, but I cannot live. I think perhaps the part of me that lived was frozen to death in the snow last Christmas.

Why do I feel like such a burden - and yet have such a heavy burden on my shoulders as well. It feels like a man trying to swim in the middle of an ocean with a weight tied to his legs, dearest Elizabeth. I can barely keep my chin up, and I am being pulled under all the time. I do not even know who I am any longer.

Is this a sign of madness, that I have no sense of identity?

* * *

2 January 1808

Dear Elizabeth,

I hate this place!

I cannot say that I dislike darkness, but this darkness is oppressive! It is too much - I know not how much longer I can take this without going insane. No sunlight, no joy, no meaning - all a black void with a dot of sun at the top. So far away that I am unsure whether or not it is worth fighting for.

I wish dearly that I could put this in an envelope and send it to you, if only to see your reply. But I will not worry you. I value joy much more now that I do not have it, and I shall never willingly cause the loss of your joy.

My only meaning is you. I look forward to this summer, when I know you will meet me once more. Those golden days are all Inlive for now. I sleep most of the time, trying to escape the cage of reality. I wish I could fall asleep and never awaken. I wish I had died last Christmas.

* * *

7 April 1808

Dear Elizabeth,

Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.

You did not come to the park today, and you always come on my birthday... What has happened? I liked your present, but I admit that I would like your presence infinitely more.

Still, I like to come to the park, because there I can pretend that my world has not shattered. There I can pretend that I am still William, happy and content. There I can pretend that I do not see the darkness both in me and the world outside.

The lantern of my world has been broken, and the night outside is cold and unfeeling. No matter how much I want your company, how much I wish I could build my lantern again, the darkness and cold wind has already invaded my world and swept the last shards of the glass away. My hands grasp at them, but they slip through my fingers, slicing them open.

Why is my pen as eloquent as I used to be, yet my tongue tied when I try to speak? Trapped, why am I trapped inside myself? I pray to God to simply end my suffering and either take my soul from this earth or give me even just a candle in this eternal night. And I pray you, my dearest friend, return soon, for this young tree cannot live without the sun.

So many colours. I do not have two senses where there should be one, but I can see the colours everywhere. Red and black and blue and lilac - everything is awash in it! The black of Pemberley's night, the pale blue of Anne's slight smirk, the jovial yellow of Richard's cheer, the green of Alex's introspection. I feel rather than see the blue and silver of my own pale weakness, and the crimson sadness that is killing me.

I know not why I can see all this colour, but I delight in remembering the gold and green of your teasing smiles. Gold for happiness, green for life. And it is so frustrating that I am so poetic in writing but so stuttering in tongue.

* * *

Resting back upon his chair, William, now four-and-twenty years old, wondered when he had come to this state, this state worse than death.


	3. Rock Bottom

He was taking a sort of vacation in London when a Mr. Edward Gardiner sent up his calling card. At first, William was confused, but remembered that Elizabeth's uncle was named Gardiner. He decided to go and have a look at this new visitor.

When he descended, the crimson burst into gold and blue when he saw Elizabeth sitting next to her uncle. She smiled at him, and his faded colours brightened into silver moonlight and sky blue. Gold and green, like he had always remembered. He found himself involuntarily smiling back.

"Mr. Darcy, I would like to speak with you. Alone," she added, her smile fading. William's joy faltered, and he grew concerned. What was bothering her so much? He cautiously led her to his cluttered desk, which, he knew, was most uncharacteristic of him, but he had been in a terrible state of mind and a bad mood before she had come.

She turned to him. "William, what is wrong? You are so cold, and we never meet at the park anymore!"

 _Oh_. So it was to be that. Questioning. His bright emotions became muted again, and he strove his hardest not to let his depression show on his face. He sat at his desk and took a deep breath. "You would not understand," he said, as gently as he could.

He had said the wrong thing. He knew it, from the way her aura immediately changed from green to red. "What would I not understand, Mr. Darcy?" she demanded. "Would I not understand your business requires your full attention? Would I not understand that your sister is but a child and must still be brought up? All of these I can understand – or are you merely insulting my intelligence?!"

"I would never do that!" Those words were out of his mouth almost before he realized they were on his mind. _How do I say this? That I have fallen in love with her but that I wish for her to remain ignorant of it?_ "This matter is of a personal nature, and I do not think you would understand this particular concern of mine!"

"I apologize, sir, if my simple country mind cannot measure up to your sophisticated standards," she replied acidly. "After all, what is simple Miss Elizabeth Bennet to the illustrious Mr. Darcy?"

 _God, no! No, never do that! I would never_ \- "No! I never meant to imply that – I only meant that – that –" For the first time since he had met her, William was quite lost for words.

"How can you be so arrogant, William? How can you act so coldly to me when all can see us, yet allow our friendship free rein where none can intrude? Are you ashamed of me?" Her acid tone cut deeper than a knife, twisting inside him and letting out the rivulets of crimson poison, like blood."No! No!" he cried desperately. "I would _never_ be ashamed of you! I only meant to protect you!"

"And you thought shunning me is protecting me? You, sir, are sadly mistaken!"

To see her using the same words to describe his actions as the words she used to warn him against them in the first place drove a blade straight to his heart, and bitterness and grief almost choked him. He was silent, trying mightily to staunch this flow before Elizabeth could see...

"You have built walls of pride and arrogance, sir, thinking that I am a child to be protected!" William's ears grew hot at this. _How dare she even_ \- "You think your understanding so superior to my own that you did not even consult with me! After all this interest in my education, it is only because you are ashamed of having such a stupid friend!"

"How can you hurt me so?" he whispered, his voice too weak to go any louder. "I took interest in your education because you deserved to be the best you could be." How could she so mistake his good intentions? Then again, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. And he certainly was in hell!

"And you are implying that I could not have been the best I could be if you had not interfered! Worse and worse, sir!"

"If you would stop interrupting me and listen!" he finally shouted, his hurt turning to anger. His colour turned straight to black, a red miasma swimming before his eyes.

"Am I an errant child that you should speak to me of listening? You are seven years my senior – that does not mean you can dictate my actions, particularly since you are only my friend and not my father! You overstep your bounds in your arrogance, Mr. Darcy!"

"Trying to help my dearest friend is arrogance, is it?" he thundered, the glass in his eyes shining as the shards fell in his tears. He cared nothing for the tears that he now shed - they were nothing to his sadness. "Because I am not connected you by blood, my care for you is arrogance and overstepping my bounds?" His voice cracked and broke even as he yelled.

"Simply because you act as father to your sister does not mean you can do the same to me, Darcy!" she screamed at him, using only his last name for the first time since they had met. Hot, angry tears trickled down her cheeks, which she dashed away furiously. Overcome by rage and fury, she stamped her foot like she had not done since she was ten years old.

He crumpled. Not only was his pride permanently crippled by her barbs, his spirit was also completely broken. "I believe we are finished here, Miss Elizabeth," he said coldly, volumes of hurt covered by an icy veneer.

"It appears we are, Mr. Darcy," she said, her anger just barely reined in as she wiped her eyes and schooled her features.

He rang for a footman, who appeared not long after, although it seemed forever to the young man and woman. "Andrews, show Miss Bennet and Mr. Gardiner to the door, please." As a last goodbye, he walked over to her, took her feverishly burning hand in his icy cold one, and kissed it. "Farewell, Miss Bennet." As he straightened, he impulsively whispered, "I am not the same anymore." He would never be the same again.

Elizabeth's angry eyes calmed, but her reply was an equally cold "Farewell, Mr. Darcy." Then she turned and walked away.

William stood, staring at the door, his heart torn between conflicting emotions so myriad that he did not bother to puzzle them out. One stood out, though - clear, grey despair. Scarlet grief. Black rage - they all emerged, ugly devils rearing their heads inside the shell called Fitzwilliam Darcy.

He only distantly heard the door close, and suddenly the one thread he had to life - his connection to Elizabeth, his only lifeline - snapped, and he dashed through the house, vision blurring, to the garden. Here, he could sail his despair to a place no one could follow.

Here, he mourned the loss of that lantern glass. His heart glittered in the million little glass pieces at his feet, and he cried and cried without even knowing it, diving headlong into the depths of despair, which he had not truly known before this very moment.

A week. A week of grey. A week of rain, both literal and figurative. A week of nothing but stone-cold numbness.

Finally, there was a letter. From Elizabeth. With the semblance of eagerness that was the closest he could get to the emotion, William ripped it open.

 _Dear William,_

 _I apologize. I know that I should not have said those things to you, but... I was being irrational. I have to admit that I missed you very much. I was feeling hurt and rejected and you were the one thing I could vent it on. I am sorry that you should have been the subject of all my insults._

 _I meant none of them. I hope you can forgive me for my insensitivity._

 _Elizabeth_

The dull throb of pain came again, and William collapsed onto his bed. _I wish I could just end this existence. Even Elizabeth does not care for me any more than to send a trite letter containing the usual platitudes. She could not be bothered to come herself_.

Gloomy and sluggish, like a cloud full of rain tat it could not let go of, William slept.

This time, though, his dreams were no solace to him.

Faded colours. He was now nothing but faded colours, dampened reds and blues and golds. Life was but a fleeting mirage, a fantasy he had mistaken entirely.

So many demons to conquer, and yet no time to do it. William's dreamscape was not what was so unsettling, but rather the thoughts that passed through his fevered, sleeping mind.

Dullness. Death. Where was he?

Bright and faded lights.

A heart on fire, a heart bleeding anguish and hope and despair all at the same time.

His heart.

A lantern forlorn and broken in the middle of this moonless night, with no use or meaning, simply swinging on its rusted hook in the dark. His world.

The wolves howling in the night on the chase, silver fur and blue eyes glinting. They were his hidden demons, the evils of his spirit and character that were slowly draining his life force away. William felt nothing anymore. Not even boredom.

Time is fluid for one in the depths of despair, far beyond feeling.

Hours and hours of numb staring, his mind blank and useless. His body a burden to move. His spirit longing to go, longing to fly free of this shell that shackled it to a world it no longer belonged to.

Now, though, it was free.

William stared at the penknife. It was the blue one, the one Elizabeth gave him. How very ironic. His mind flickered, as though some of its old sharpness was returning, but there was no response. His business was done. He had written a note to Elizabeth, apologizing for the selfishness of his actions, but he no longer wanted anything.

All he desired was to be free. Free of this dull agony. He had worn all black since his father's death, even when the mourning period ended, because not only was he mourning the loss of a beloved father, he was mourning the loss of himself, his identity.

And now, he was going to be free.

He pushed the knife, hard, against his pulse, and blood spurred from the wound as the first real pain he had experienced in a long time lanced him.

William fell to the floor, not even attempting to staunch his bleeding, and waited, calmly, for death to come. He felt no pain, only a lingering regret. And as Death reached out with its agonized hands to possess him, Fitzwilliam Darcy slipped into a stupor between waking and dreams. The peace he had so longed to have was his at last.

* * *

Nothing could describe the horror Richard Fitzwilliam felt upon opening his cousin's bedroom door and finding him lying in a puddle of his own blood.

"God, please no!" he prayed as he dashed into the room and hauled his cousin off of the floor. Shouting for help, he laid his cousin on the bed, his voice raised in a desperate cry, "GEORGIANA! ANNE! ALEX! LILY! HELP ME, FOR GOD'S DAMNED BLOODY SAKE!"

Alex was the first to come. "Good Lord!" was his strangled whisper. "No! William!"

Georgiana almost fainted, and Anne, who looked stunned into speechlessness (a rare occurrence for the ever-ready Anne de Bourgh) supported her. Lily put her hand over her mouth, and ran back through to the door, ordering a servant to come fetch the physician _immediately_.

Richard bound up the wound to stop the bleeding. Already William was as pale as death, and he did not seem to be breathing. Richard listened for a heartbeat and almost collapsed in sobbing relief. It was there, weak and threadlike as it was, but there. Silent and desperate, William's cousins and sister kept their agonized vigil over his unconscious body until Mr. Smith, the physician, came to relieve them of that duty.

* * *

It was morning before Mr. Smith told them that William was to live. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. Richard covered his face with his hands and unashamedly wept, while his older siblings simply sat side by side like twins will do. Georgiana was crying with relief like Richard, but her face was buried in Anne's slim, comforting shoulder.

Anne herself was still in sort-of shock. William had been her confidant since she was eight years old, looking up to the older nine-year-old boy. William, also, was the only one who yet knew that she loved Richard, their favourite cousin.

Anne de Bourgh might have had a weak body, but she had a mind twice as sharp as usual to compensate for it. William was the cousin who was most similar to her, and the one her mother and his wanted her to marry, but she loved Richard for the same reason he was William's favourite cousin - he always listened, was always there, was always kind and considerate. Almost nothing seemed to ruffle him. He also drew and painted excellently, enough for even his exacting father to be proud of it. Richard might not be quite as handsome as William, but William was too similar to Anne to get along very well if she married him.

Eventually, capable, kind Lily got up and got about getting some tea for all of them. "It will do to quiet us all," she said, in her usual brisk voice. The Fitzwilliams were notoriously stubborn people, and Anne knew that Lily would not cede, even though none of them really wanted tea.

It turned out, however, that it was just the thing to calm them all down and set them in good spirits again. Eventually Richard began to talk. "Fitz... what happened to Fitz?"

They all knew who he meant without asking.

"I have no idea," Alex piped up, cradling his hot cup like he would a coal. "I have never seen William in such a state. It is as if he suddenly collapsed down a well!"

"What drained his spirits so suddenly?" Georgiana - sweet, innocent Georgiana - wondered. "William has not been himself for months, but he would not go to this extreme unless he was in absolute despair."

"I saw something on his desk," Alex offered. "It was a note, directed to a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who apparently lives in Hertfordshire." He frowned. "This is most improper, you know, William sending a single lady notes! Have any of you any clue as to why our prim and proper cousin would breach societal rules in such a way?"

Richard started laughing, almost choking on his tea. "Oh! God, this is too much!" he wheezed, recovering from his short episode. "I know that Elizabeth, I believe! Some Mr. Thomas Bennet has been sending Fitz letters for years, and sometimes I see him reading them over again."

"A Mr. Bennet? Interesting," Anne remarked. "But what of that?"

"Here's the catch," Richard chuckled. "Those letters were not really from Thomas Bennet at all! When I snuck around his desk for a bit, I saw that all those letters had been signed with not Thomas, but Elizabeth! Dash it all, cousins - and siblings - I believe we have found our Miss Elizabeth Bennet!"

"The poor lad must be half in love with her already then," Alexander mused.

"Elizabeth? Did he often call her 'my little friend' in his letters, Richard?" Georgiana asked.

"Why yes, I believe he did... quite a few of them, actually!"

"That Elizabeth is his dearest friend!" Georgiana brightened. "She comes to the park every summer, and has been coming ever since she was six!"

"When was that?" Richard asked, a frown creasing his brow. Alexander, Lily, and Anne all had frowns as well as they leaned closer to hear the girl's answer. "How long ago was that?"

"William said... it was when he was thirteen." Georgiana's voice was barely a whisper.

Richard burst out laughing again. "I should have known!" he howled. "I should have known!"

"What is it, Richie?" Lily said sharply. Anne stifled a chuckle. Fitzwilliam women were definitely a force to be reckoned with, especially when there were three of them in one room.

"William talked about letters from his little friend all through school, did he not, Alex?" When his brother nodded, Richard continued. "In those letters, there were various references to age," Richard explained. "One letter, written in about the winter of 1803, indicated that she was 'twelve and a half' years of age." He shrugged when they all raised their eyebrows at him. "Ask me not! It was them that wrote the expressions!

"Then there were birthday letters. I noticed that after 1803, the letters became increasingly frantic, until 1806, when they stopped."

"You know much about the lady's letters," Alex said drowsily. "Almost too much. Are you certain that you have not lost your heart to a phantom, dear brother mine?"

Anne felt an involuntary stab of fear in her heart as she imagined Richard in love with someone else, but she pushed it down. If he was, he deserved happiness as much as she did, and she would let him go.

Thankfully, Richard only laughed. "Really? Me, fall in love with a lass nine years my junior? What sort of a rake do you take me for, Alex? You, especially, know that my heart has long been engaged elsewhere!"

"Simply doing routine maintenance," Alex deadpanned, dusting off his cuffs. Richard punched his brother, but not very hard, while Alex's grey eyes glittered in amusement - it had always amazed Anne how such close relatives could look so different.

Alexander and Elizabeth Fitzwilliam were fraternal twins, one having black hair and grey eyes and the other having dark hair and green eyes. Richard had been the one to take after his mother, like Lily, and had dark hair and emerald green eyes. William was the spitting image of his father except for the cerulean blue eyes, which had been slightly altered to Georgiana's bonny blue. How Georgiana had ended up with golden waves when her family all had either chestnut, dark or black locks no one knew. Anne herself had hazel brown eyes and long black hair like the ink she used to write out the stories that took place in her vivid imagination.

And these cousins had been bound as tightly as though they were siblings. Alex and Lily had their own special bond, as twins, and Richard his bond with each of them. William had his protective adoration of Georgiana, and Georgiana her hero-worship for him. Even though Anne had no siblings with whom to bond, her cousins had always been like her brothers and sisters... except for Richard. Richard was an exception, the only one. Anne loved him in a way different from everyone else.

Anne looked at her family with satisfaction. They were young, yes, inexperienced, yes, but they could help William face whatever demons had taken hold of him now.

Mr. Smith was kept on at Pemberley for another two days, and Richard began to get impatient. Alex was not much better. Richard and his brother were men of action, and this anxiety was not helping either of their tempers.

"I think it was the argument," Richard commented to his brother that night, over a glass of port. "I was with Fitz one day in London when I heard shouting, and I rushed up to find an older man listening in on the study door."

"And?" Alex was noncommittal as he sipped.

"And it turned out he was Mr. Gardiner, Miss Bennet's/ uncle. I was astonished, to say the least, when the door burst open and Andrews showed Gardiner and a fiery young woman I guessed to be Miss Elizabeth out. When I heard the door close behind them, I was even more astonished to see Fitz himself dash out to the garden. You remember the wilderness he had planted there?"

"Yes."

"Well, I followed him, only to hear stormy sobbing when I drew near. So I returned to the house and pretended it had never happened." Richard sighed. "It seems that I made the wrong choice."

"Damn right," Alex replied darkly, taking another sip. "Wills might not be in this predicament if you had not kept your bloody trap shut. Richard, I do not blame you, although I dearly wish both you and Fitz had thought better of the silence. And now he has finally hit the bottom." Viscount Milton sighed as he emptied his glass and drummed his fingers.

"I would say that, yes," Richard agreed. "Still, there is one good thing about rock bottom."

"What is that?"

"That once you hit rock bottom, there is no place to go but up."


	4. This Moment Is Perfect

When the hapless physician informed them that William was lucid, if not fully awake, Richard growled, "About bloody time!" and stalked up towards the Master's chambers of Pemberley Manor.

Accustomed to Richard's strong language, the other Fitzwilliams did nothing, but simply followed him upstairs, leaving a confused and somewhat annoyed Mr. Smith behind them.

The cousins filed into the room, while Richard glared darkly at a pale and drawn William. Anne was stricken by how very weak he looked. Even as a boy, William had been robust and strong, full of life and full of action. His dark curls had always been disarranged some way or another. Yet here he was, her lively, healthy cousin lying in bed looking as ill as Anne did.

"You bloody idiot!" Richard roared at him. "You have no idea what trouble you caused! Father has had to manage your accounts while you slipped off to the Land of Dreams to prattle and skip about like a boy in coats!"

"Richard!" three voices rang at once, one shocked, two reproving. Georgiana looked horrified, while Alex looked resigned and Lily looked irritated. "Richard," Alex said. "I cannot say that William has not been an irresponsible layabout, moping around all the time, but that does not give you reason to swear and rail at him as though he was one of your privates ready for a verbal flogging! For God's sake, have mercy on the poor lad! He looks absolutely miserable."

It was true. William's gaunt, sallow cheeks were sunken and pale, their cheekbones standing out even more than usual. His cerulean blue eyes had a haunted look to them, the gold ring had disappeared, and their depths contained nothing but despair. Anne felt a wave of sympathy for her cousin, but - irritatingly - she felt a wave of inspiration.

"Oh, alright," Richard conceded, mollified. "I think one of us should stay with him." In a rare show of affection, he hugged his cousin tight. "Stay with us, William."

"Yes, please!" Georgiana pleaded. William's cheeks flushed a dull red, and he looked deeply ashamed as he looked away from them. "I do not deserve family like you," he said haltingly, thickly.

"It does not matter!" Lily said forcefully, taking her cousin's thin face between her hands. "Listen, Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy! Listen for once! Listen to us when we say that you are not worthless. Listen to us when we say that you are a good-tempered, good-natured man, and always the most generous-hearted boy in the world!"

"Amen to that!" Alex agreed fervently, prompting a string of agreements from the others.

"And we might not be able to reprint your faded colours, Fitz," Richard added, "but we might be able to add more."

William smiled for the first time in a year, and Georgiana flung herself at her brother. He put his arms around her and hugged her, mindful of the barely-closed wound on his left wrist. Silently the rest of his cousins gathered around him and joined the group hug.

William smiled as he was encircled by his cousins and sister, five of the people he loved most in the world. Perhaps Richard was right. Perhaps he could not brighten his faded colours, but he could give them a better meaning, add to them. Perhaps he could start on the road to recovery after all.

His family was close, the people he loved, and Elizabeth, while absent, had forgiven him. His colours, while faded, were still bright. Bright and faded lights, he had said. Now they were bright blue, silver, and gold, with green spiraling up into the mix. He was happy here, right now. Truly happy. This love from his cousins and his love for them - and Elizabeth - this was purer and sweeter than anything he had tasted for a long time. Pure white blended into blue, gold, and green. _This picture is so beautiful, it makes me want to cry. I love it._

Fitzwilliam Darcy blinked away tears. This moment, to him, was perfect.

* * *

 **Hi there! Two chapters today, as a special treat!**

 **Thanks for reading this story, but here, it spirals back into Chapter 6: Of Assemblies and Awkwardness. This is just sort of a family fluff short... I love his solidarity with his cousins! I wish Lizzy and her sisters would be this close. Still, if you want to read more of this story, check out 'More Than My Dearest Friend'. I might be adding more shorts to the mix, haha!**

 **Bye for now!**


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